Tunnel Vision
by Yukichoji
Summary: For Ryan, everything has always been about fighting, forcefully proving that he's the strongest, the smartest, the best. Because that's what fighting is all about, right? It turns out sex isn't all that different. At least not when it comes to Jake.


Title: Tunnel Vision

Author: Yukichouji

Beta: Khaleesian. You are awesome.

Pairing: Ryan/Jake

Raiting: NC-17

Warnings: This story is a graphic depiction of sexual assault involving two under-aged characters and the guilty party is neither remorseful nor punished. If this sounds like it bother you, do not click.

Summary: For Ryan, everything has always been about fighting, forcefully proving that he's the strongest, the smartest, the best. Because that's what fighting is all about, right? It turns out sex isn't all that different. At least not when it comes to Jake.

Notes: Feedback is grately appreciated. Enjoy!

* * *

For as long as Ryan can remember, his life has been about winning.

About proving that he is unquestionably, undoubtedly the best. Proving it to his father who'll only ever really look at him, when Ryan is fighting, some other kid's blood on his fists as he pounds him into defeat.

Proving it to his mother, who never looks at him. But she looks at the grades he brings home, and, if they're good enough, she smiles in silent self-satisfaction.

Proving it to the crowd, the gawking, staring spectators who'll call out his name and cheer in brutal, brazen joy as he puts on a show for them.

And ultimately, proving it to himself. Over and over again. Until his head swims with the sickening rush of sweat and blood and _victory_.

For a long time, Ryan thinks that's it, that high is the best he can get out of it.

Turns out he's wrong.

The day Ryan finds out what fighting is _really _about, why people really do it, why it's so exciting, so addictive, is one of the most glorious Ryan can remember. It changes everything.

The truth about fighting is that it's the oldest known way of establishing your place in society's hierarchy. To win a fight, to forcefully push another person into submission. Having someone completely at his mercy, having proven that he's stronger, smarter, fast, better than his opponent. It's gaining total and complete power over someone else.

Knowing that is a dizzying flutter in the pit of his stomach before every punch, every kick, before every forced exhale and tight coil of muscle.

In a way, Ryan thinks, it's a lot like sex.

The moment Ryan first lays eyes on Jake, that foreboding day when Jake barges into the staged fight under the bleachers, arrogant and self-righteous like he was born to be the knight in shining armor, Ryan knows he wants him. Wants to fight him, wants to feel the sick rush of blood and adrenaline as he takes that guy apart, makes that will and bravado crumble under the force of Ryan's strength and skill.

To bend him and break him until he moves only the way Ryan wants him to.

To put him back into his place.

Ryan can hardly sleep with the thrum of that thought; the blood in his veins throbs in anticipation.

* * *

When it's time, he gets Jake exactly where he wants him.

Into the ring.

At first Jake doesn't go for it, refuses the offer, but Ryan is good at reading people, at learning their weaknesses so he knows exactly where to push, where to exert just the right amount of psychological pressure to get the desired reaction. He makes Jake _want _to fight him and the satisfying rush of power in that alone is almost dangerous.

There's something about Jake that makes Ryan want to forget the show he's putting on for the others and just _hurt _him.

Ryan wipes the floor with Jake, degrades him, humiliates him in front of everyone, makes it spectacular, makes Jake feel it. The bruises on Jake's body will be there for days to come to remind him of his defeat.

But it's not enough.

Because even though Ryan's victory is so perfect, so undeniable, Jake refuses to submit.

No-one's ever done that before, no-one's ever dared be stubborn enough to deny Ryan that well-earned, fought-for power. It leaves Ryan feeling betrayed and furious.

This is not how Ryan had imagined winning against Jake would feel. Jake has no right to take that from him. Ryan wants to make him pay for it, wants to see exactly what it's like when he beats that submission out of Jake after all.

But not now. Jake is already down and he's not getting up on his own any time soon.

So Ryan lets himself be dragged away by the crowd and lets Max pull Jake upright and help him hobble his sorry ass home.

And then he waits.

And when his chance comes, he's ready.

* * *

It happens under the bleachers, the place where Ryan met Jake for the first time, and isn't that just perfect?

Ryan lurks in the shadows and when Jake passes by, he throws out his bait and lures him in. Jake is so easy to manipulate; it's almost like he wants this too.

Jake has been training, that much is obvious. He's put a couple of new moves into his repertoire, some of them not even all that bad, that much at least Ryan has to admit. But it doesn't make much of a difference.

If Jake wants to be able to hold a candle to Ryan, he's going to have to try a lot harder than that.

Ryan controls the fight without even really trying. He guides Jake deeper into the shadows, where no-one will see them from outside, even though break has just ended and everybody is streaming back to class, the football field a deserted stretch of grass, lonely and silent as a ghost town.

Jake aims a punch at Ryan´s head, that damn boxer-bullshit technique still too evident in his fighting, and Ryan deflects it, using the momentum to deliver a low-kick to the outside of Jake's right thigh, rendering that leg useless, something Jake will feel for weeks every time he sits down, and Jake falls for it just like he did at their last fist fight as though he's learned nothing at all. He's just not paying attention.

While Jake is trying to shake off the pain, Ryan crouches low and goes for a double-leg, grabbing Jake's thighs, slamming his shoulder into Jake's stomach to sweep him off his feet and throw Jake to the dust-encrusted ground. Jake lands hard on his back, breath knocked out of him and Ryan follows him down.

Crouching between Jake's thighs, Ryan aims punch after punch at Jake's face, working his way to break past Jake's defenses. Jake does the clever thing for once and uses the position to pin Ryan in place by locking his legs around Ryan's waist, ankles crossed in the small of Ryan's back.

Or it would have been clever, had Jake been able to follow up on it or gone for a neck-lock instead.

Like this, all Ryan needs to do is rise up on his knees, lifting Jake's hips off of the ground, to throw off his guard. It leaves enough room for Ryan to push through, get a hold of Jake's wrists and pin them to the filthy, cracked cement at the sides of Jake's head in a swift and violent motion.

Jake grits his teeth and twists his hips to dislodge Ryan, but Ryan widens his knees and holds against it. Their faces are so close now that Ryan can smell traces of Jake's lunch on his breath as it gusts hotly across Ryan's cheeks. This is exactly the kind of fighting Ryan enjoys most. Close, hot, dirty and he's the one in charge again.

It's exhilarating and Ryan grins with the adrenaline-fueled thrill of it. He wants more.

Jake starts to buck under him, not letting go of Ryan's hips, because that would give Ryan more room to move and put Jake into an even more vulnerable position. Jake throws more weight into the effort to push Ryan off balance and it's getting harder for Ryan to hold his stance. The knees of his jeans scrape across the rough floor, tearing and giving way to skin and blood.

The pain is familiar; it's easy to ignore, it's nothing.

Ryan lets go of Jake's left wrist and punches Jake in the face before he can bring his guard back up. There's the familiar, satisfying crunch as Ryan's fist connects with the bridge of Jake's nose and blood wells up under Ryan's fingers. Jake gasps at the sudden burst of pain.

The sight is intoxicating, streaks of crimson rushing down Jake's face, painting his lips, his chin and cheeks. The color such a stark contrast to the pale skin of Jake's face. Jake's chocolate eyes are gleaming bright, lit from the inside by the same fierce rage that contorts his features and Ryan needs to be careful or that gaze will burn him to ashes.

A fist catches Ryan at his temple and it knocks him down, but he manages to go with the motion and makes Jake roll over with him. Ryan wasn't paying attention, transfixed by that stare, or he wouldn't have been caught off guard like that.

They tumble across the ground, dirt and grime clinging to their t-shirts and jeans, skin and hair, until Ryan uses the momentum to his advantage and ends up on top again.

It's time to put an end to this.

Ryan wrestles past Jake's defensive hands and pummels his elbow against the side of Jake's head. He repeats the motion again and again until Jake stops fighting him and his hands drop away, his eyes foggy and unfocused as his head rolls limply to the side.

Ryan doesn't hesitate. He grabs the hem of Jake's t-shirt and jerks it up over his head, tangling the sleeves around Jake's wrists and pulling the fabric into a tight knot there. Jake's skin is soft against Ryan's fingers. His muscles flutter under Ryan's touch.

Touching Jake is like chasing waves of electricity across his body, the thrill and tingle of danger just beneath the surface, thrumming within tightly coiled muscles. And still, Ryan is the one in control now, this is the way it's supposed to be.

Ryan draws a rough hand over Jake's flat stomach. He likes the way it rises and falls too quickly under his palm.

He thumbs open the button on Jake's jeans, slides down the zipper and enjoys the little whir it makes, loud in the silence around them. Ryan hooks his fingers into the waistband of Jake's pants and pulls, guides them down over Jake's legs, knees, his ankles, baring new expanses of tanned skin with every inch.

Jake's sneakers are in the way so Ryan snatches them off and throws them to the side. They make little thunking sounds as they land somewhere in the gloom to Ryan's left. When they're gone, Ryan slides the jeans over Jake's feet and drops them carelessly.

Jake is all long planes of muscle and coiled up strength, hard edges underneath layers of skin, and still, there's something soft about him. Something that makes Ryan want to clutch and bruise until anyone can see his mark, the irrefutable stain of Ryan's triumph.

Ryan pushes Jake's thighs apart, watches in silent satisfaction as they fall open without resistance – Jake is still so out of it, barely conscious – and crawls up in-between. He arranges Jake's legs as he wants them, drapes Jake's knees over his thighs so that Jake lies spread out and exposed before him, his weakness made so starkly obvious.

The streaks of light that crawl into the shadows, reaching out to touch them, filter through dull, weightless clouds of dust. They're like a barrier that cut Jake and Ryan off from the rest of the world. Here in the semi-darkness under the bleachers there is no outside world, there are no rules, no civilization.

It makes Ryan feel bold and careless.

He tugs down his own zipper and hisses a sharp breath as cool air touches his heated, sensitized skin. Ryan pumps himself a few times, the familiar slide of calluses over soft, silky skin, until he's fully hard, then lets go of himself so he can lift up Jake's knees, curling Jake's spine into an uncomfortable arch that puts almost all of Jake's weight onto the back of his neck, constricting his windpipe and making it harder to breathe.

Ryan shoves his thighs underneath Jake's ass and lower back to keep Jake's hips at the right angle and lets the hollows of Jake's knees rest in the crooks of Ryan's elbows to leave his hands free. He runs them possessively over the soft skin of Jake's thighs, a smile stretching his lips as his hands catch on soft little dustings of darkish hair.

Ryan slides his hands lower and pulls the cheeks of Jake's ass apart, rushing out a breath. The dark pink ring of muscle is exposed for Ryan, where no-one else has ever touched before, not like this, and the blood on Jake's face is still gushing from his nose and coating his teeth a watery red as Jake stares back at him, eyes dazed and foggy, but so stunned and so accusing. So vulnerable.

It's perfect.

It's exactly what Ryan wanted. He's so hard, his dick an angry, swollen red, the tip slick and glistening with precome. Ryan hasn't felt this sort of vital heat in what seems like forever.

He draws his thumbs over the puckered opening, thrilled at the way it twitches under his touch and then pushes in, both of them at once and pulls them apart, opening Jake up, just for him. Jake makes such a delightful little sound at that. A heady mixture of startled discomfort and disbelief and now he tries to move, to jerk his hands free of the shackle of his t-shirt and kick out, but he's still so out of it, his movements uncoordinated and weak.

Ryan drinks it all in, greedily sucks up the thrill of power as it rushes through his veins.

Ryan pulls Jake open wider and gleefully soaks up the way Jake throws his head back and whines deep in his throat, sounding wounded and scared. It sends tickling bursts of excitement down Ryan's spine and deep into the pit of his stomach. God, Jake is so tight. He tries to fight Ryan even now. But it doesn't make a difference any more.

Rocking forward on his knees, Ryan presses his dick to Jake's hole and then pushes the tip in, guided by his thumbs, and it's not slick enough, the motion a sliding burn Ryan has to grit his teeth against, but it's _g__ood _that way. It's the way Ryan likes it, when he has to really work for what he wants. It makes victory just that much sweeter, and he wants Jake to feels this, wants it to stretch all the way to his core.

Ryan pulls out his thumbs and leans forward, bending Jake almost in half. He lowers Jake's left knee to his thigh, lets it rest there and slides his free hand across the trembling muscles of Jake's stomach, up to is chin, where he digs his fingers in and twists Jake's head, makes him look at Ryan as he pushes forward and slides in deeper, every inch a struggle against the ineptness of Jake's body that Ryan is forcefully winning. He wants Jake to see exactly who's doing this to him, Ryan wants the picture of his face to haunt Jake's nightmares.

Jake's mouth drops open and his eyes screw shut, unable to hold Ryan's gaze, weak, pathetic. Jake's lips shape a scream, but there's no sound, and his hands come up to push feebly at Ryan's chest, fingers clumsily tangling with the fabric of Ryan's blue t-shirt. And god, Jake is so fucking tight, his insides a velvety, clenching channel of heat, alive and real, and it's worth every second of discomfort.

Jake smells of sweat and blood, of cologne and cement dust, of pain and fear, dizzy anger and fogged up desperation and Ryan lets himself get drunk on it. The dirt under his knees crunches as he pushes his hips forward bit by bit, driving deeper into Jake.

Ryan hits a point of resistance, feels Jake go completely still and rigid under him, and pushes past it. Jake keens and gasps, choking on his spit and the blood in his mouth. He twists his hands against Ryan's chest and frantically tries to shove him off, to twist his hips away from Ryan.

Ryan ignores it and doesn't stop until he's in to the hilt, hips flush against Jake's ass. Jake forcefully clamps his jaws together, erratically trying to suck air through his clenched teeth and gives up the struggle of his own accord, muscles drawn so tight Ryan thinks he might snap and break at any moment. Then he starts to shake.

Jake's breath rushes in and out of his lungs at a dizzying speed and his hands, still bound together at the wrists, claw at Ryan's chest, scrabble desperately for purchase, for something, anything to hold on to. He ends up clinging to Ryan's t-shirt with trembling fingers. Ryan snarls down at him, power a tightly curled fist of excitement in the pit of his stomach, so intense it's almost too much. Ryan feels himself grow dizzy with it.

He pulls back and thrust his hips forward. The dry slide teeters on the verge of actual pain and Jake is clamping so tightly around him, his body futilely struggling against the intrusion, but Ryan keeps forcing himself in until his precome starts to slick him up with every plunge in and out.

Ryan snaps his hips harder, drawing pathetic little sounds from Jake as it punches the breath out of his lungs and Jake starts to sob, small, broken little noises that he chokes on half of the time, trying to breathe through the blood that's clogging up his nose and running down the back of his throat and it's so _good._ Ryan bathes himself in it as he rips his victory from Jake with every harsh thrust, every bruising touch.

He buries his hand in Jake's hair and tilts Jake's head, digs his fingers into Jake's scalp until Jake has to open his eyes and _look _at Ryan grinning down at him while he coughs and gags and cries, making Jake's humiliation crushingly perfect.

Ryan can feel little drops of sweat gathering and trickling down his back and he leans forward to lick a stripe up Jake's chest, his throat, to the corner of his mouth, never breaking eye-contact. Jake's lips are parted, sucking in breaths, hiccupping them back out.

Jake tastes of sweat and musk, of dust and tears, the familiar tang of blood overlaying it all. Ryan presses his fingers into the hollow of Jake's cheeks, makes sure he can't bite down and pushes his tongue past Jake's lips into warm, wet heat.

Jake is hot all over, like there's a furnace smoldering in his chest, the places where skin touches skin a blazing burn, and damn if that isn't a fucking turn-on, because this, all of this belongs to Ryan now. It's always only been a matter of time.

Jake's slippery-slick tongue shies away from Ryan's like he's being scorched, but Ryan doesn't let him, he strokes and claims and makes it as filthy as he can, chases after the taste of blood, until there's spit glistening at the corner of Jake's mouth and there are red streaks on Ryan's chest where Jake's nails have dug into the skin through the thin cotton of Ryan's t-shirt.

Ryan pulls away to suck in a breath and speeds up his thrusts, the build of his orgasm a sweet, hot burn low in his stomach and damn if the sounds Jake is making, wet and sloppy and oh-so-sweet, don't shoot right through him.

He lets go of Jake's face and reaches for Jake's flaccid cock, wraps his hand around it and tugs, grip too tight. Jake sobs and coughs and twists his face away from him, no trace left of his previous arrogance and pride.

Hips stuttering forward, Ryan buries himself inside of Jake, impossibly deep, and comes, his vision exploding into white-hot bursts of ecstasy as he paints Jake's insides with his come. He rides his orgasm wave by wave and when it's over he drops Jake's leg and slumps forward, hands braced in the dirt on either side of Jake's shoulders to hold himself up, to try and catch his breath.

Jake is a choking, sobbing mess now. He's twisted as far as he can away from Ryan, and his face is buried in the crook of his elbow. The skin of his arms and back is encrusted with sweat and dirt and little red streaks in-between where the rough ground has broken skin and drawn blood and he looks so small like this. Ryan pulls out and backs off and Jake's legs curl up with the rest of his body until he's lying on his side with his knees pressed tightly to his chest.

Tucking himself back in, Ryan burns the image into his retina, makes sure he'll never be able to forget Jake the way he is now. Then he picks up Jake's jeans, tosses them to cover Jake's hips and leaves.

Ryan doesn't need words. He's already said everything he'd wanted to with his body.

He steps back out into the light, becomes part of the world again. He straightens his shirt and slaps the dust off his jeans before he starts walking and a smile grows on his face, the kind that makes people clear his path and shy away from his gaze.

Pulling his cell from the back pocket of his pants, he punches in Max's number. The ringtone buzzes twice before Max picks up.

"This is Ryan. You need to pick Jake up, he's not feeling so good. Check under the bleachers."

He hangs up before Max has a chance to answer.

Jake won't die. He'll crawl into his little hole until his wounds are healed and then he'll crawl back out.

And when he does, Ryan will be waiting.


End file.
